


release

by sithsecrets



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: (first for this relationship at least), Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Frustration, Post-Coital Cuddling, Rough Sex, Sex, mando needs to calm down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithsecrets/pseuds/sithsecrets
Summary: A particularly difficult hunt has Mando in a huff, and you know just what he needs.---“You need to relax, Mando,” you say softly, reaching out to rub at his arm. The visor follows your every move, but Mando trains his eyes right on you when you murmur, “Let me help you.”“How— What do you mean?”
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 23
Kudos: 258





	1. release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mando's stressed out. you help him calm down.

_Some hunts are easier than others_ — that’s one of the first things the Mandalorian told when you joined his crew. You’d thought that was a fair answer to the question you’d ask, and it made a lot of sense at the time because _of course_ bounties have levels like practically anything else. Some people are stupid, others are smart… A simple bail jumper’s probably not going to be much of a challenge, but a spice smuggler or a member of an organized crime ring? That could be difficult.

Before this assignment, you’d _thought_ you knew what a difficult hunt looked like. There was the pimp on Jakku that led Mando on a chase for three days in the dessert, the pair of bail-jumping brothers that ended up being _very_ well-connected to some _very_ scary spicemakers, and a few other quarries that stick out in your mind. But Mando’s most recent mission…

This whole thing was a clusterfuck from the start. Karga had called it a “special quest” when he offered up the puck, and you’d been right there at Mando’s side when he asked for the price. The number that came out of Karga’s mouth was absolutely insane, almost too good to be true.

There was a catch, of course. The quarry is a member of an alien species known for their sameness— each being looks identical, no sex, no gender, no differentiating characteristics. To make a hard job even harder, the quarry’s…. a bad person. They’re dangerous, armed to the teeth, and known to leave a lot of collateral damage in their wake. And they’re rich. _Unbelievably_ rich. The kind of rich that makes a person bulletproof, the kind of rich that lets a person disappear at will like they never existed in the first place.

Yet despite all of this, despite how difficult the task seemed, Mando accepted the puck anyway, and now you’re here in the Crest wondering what the fuck you’re going to do with him.

Four dead-end leads and three planets later, you think Mando’s going to crack. He came back to the ship earlier in a huff, announcing that you, he, and the baby would be going to yet _another_ location to track this person down. Quiet rage has been radiating off of him ever since, the anger Mando feels slipping out here and there in all the wrong ways. He was less patient with the Child earlier when he was putting him down to sleep, and Mando’s tone was clipped when he declined your offer to make him something to eat. You try not to take any of his behavior personally, knowing good and well that Mando’s running on empty. The stress of this hunt has been immense, and you’re not sure if he’s been sleeping or eating like he should during his days away. Knowing how Mando takes care of himself in the best of times, though…

The man needs to relax, you think. He needs a good meal, something warm and filling, and a good night’s sleep. Mando also needs to blow off steam, needs to fight or scream or fuck—

You force yourself to clear that thought from your mind, even as you prepare yourself for what you’re about to do. It’s gamble, to say the very least— this could cost you your job, your place next to the Mandalorian. You don’t think you could stomach it, being sent away by this man that you care for, but something has to be done— about Mando’s agitation _and_ your feelings for him.

Drawing in a deep breath, you stand before the ladder the leads up the cockpit, gathering every bit of courage you have. “Mando,” you call, hoping he won’t react too poorly to be disturbed right now. He went off hours ago, shutting himself away up there to “look over some intel,” whatever the fuck that means.

“What?”

The word comes out short, but not angry, and you figure it’s fine to go on.

“Can I come up?”

Mando doesn’t give you much in the way of an answer, but the noise he makes is affirmative enough. You climb up the ladder, the rungs cold on your bare feet, and then you’re there in the cockpit. Mando’s just as tense as he was when he went up here in the first place, shoulders drawn taut, eyes trained on a hologram in front of him. It looks like some sort of map, though the lines and colors mean little to you.

“How’s it going?”

He doesn’t even turn his head. “Fine.”

You watch Mando for a moment, nervous as you consider how to play this.

“Don’t you think you should rest, Mando?” you ask, coming to stand beside the pilot’s chair. He’s still hasn’t looked at you, hasn’t so much as glanced in your direction. “You need to eat, and I think sleeping would—”

“I’m not tired,” Mando cuts, and it takes everything in you to bite back your frustration.

“Yes, you are. You’re exhausted, and probably hungry, and even the baby can sense it.”

You don’t get a word of acknowledgement from the Mandalorian, not so much as a fucking syllable, and you finally slip just the slightest bit.

“ _Mando_ ,” you declare, tone firm and demanding, and finally, _finally_ , you have his full attention.

“Yes?”

Exasperation is clear in the Mandalorian’s voice, but he’s looking at you know, turning the pilot’s chair in your direction. One or two steps closer, and you’d be standing right between his legs, close enough to reach out—

_Focus._

“Don’t talk to me like that,” you huff, hands on your hips. “You know I’m right. I know this quarry’s been hard to catch, but you’re starting to slip.”

Once again, Mando leaves you sitting in silence, though it would seem that some of the fight’s left his body. Carefully, you inch forward, and just the slightest thrill runs up your back when Mando opens his legs to make room for you.

“I’m worried about you,” you confess, voice softening. “I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

Mando’s sigh is long and tired, but he’s out of energy to argue any further. “You’re right,” he concedes. “I— Maybe I am going a little too hard.”

“Of course I’m right.”

You take no real pleasure in this, but you are glad to hear Mando admit that he needs to slow down. With that done, though, it’s time for you to be brave, perhaps braver than you’ve ever been in your life.

“You need to relax, Mando,” you say softly, reaching out to rub at his arm. The visor follows your every move, but Mando trains his eyes right on you when you murmur, “Let me help you.”

“How— What do you mean?”

You’ve got the Mandalorian stuttering, and something about that boosts your confidence to a dangerous level. It almost feels like it’s not you that sinks down onto the floor, dropping onto one knee and then the other between Mando’s legs. Your fingers are on his belt for no more than a second before he’s reaching out, before he’s pushing your hands away and jolting in shock.

“Whoa, _mesh’la_ , that’s not—”

“Necessary?” you cut, cocking your head. “I think that it is, Mando. You need to relax.”

“Yeah, but I don’t— You’re not obligated to—”

“Of course I’m not obligated. I want to do this, Mando. I want to take care of you.”

You settle on your knees and twist your hands out of Mando’s gentle grasp, the leather of his gloves cool on your palms. His fists clench and unclench under your touch, anxious and fidgety, and you feel the need to pause for just a moment.

“Mando,” you say softly, squeezing his hands, “I know what you need, and I’m happy to give it to you. But if you don’t want this, tell me now. I’ll go back down to the hull, you can go back to your map, and we never have to talk about it again.”

Mando hesitates, and you find yourself wondering if you this was a good idea.

“You actually want to do this? You— To _me_?”

You nod. “I really do.”

Finally, after a few more seconds of tense silence, Mando lets himself relax. You feel it, the way the muscles in his thighs go slack under your arms, the rest of his body sagging back in the pilot’s chair. Eyes track your every movement as you unbuckle Mando’s belt, though you see nothing but the blackness of the visor when you glance up. He’s good help, shifting from side to side as you try to tug his pants down just the slightest bit, and then there’s nothing left for you to do but start.

The moment you lean down to kiss the head of Mando’s cock, you’re blindsided by just how much you _missed_ this. It’s been so long since you had sex with another person, so long since you felt the weight of a man on your tongue in this way. And the smell, Maker, the s _mell_ … You get lost in what you’re doing, focused on nothing but the feel of Mando’s cock in your mouth and the throbbing between your thighs. So lost, in fact, that it takes you about ten seconds too long to realize that you’re being touched.

Sometime between you undoing his belt and this very moment, Mando took off his gloves and threaded his fingers in your hair. He doesn’t pull or push or so much as try to control what you’re doing, but there’s a pressure there, a warmth. It would be inconsequential if Mando were someone else, the fact that his hand is bare against your scalp, but he _isn’t._ Such a simple gesture, and yet…

You sit back on your heels and catch your breath, one hand stroking Mando’s cock at a steady, even pace. A noise indicative of something not unlike despair slips out of the modulator that same instance, so quick and so quiet that it’s almost lost in the static, and not for the first time do you find yourself cursing the fucking helmet. You ache to see Mando’s face, you ache to see his _whole fucking body_ …

“Are you feeling better?” you purr, mouth slick with drool as you talk. You’re not sure Mando likes you all sloppy and ruined like this, but you think it’s safe to go out on a limb just this once.

“Yes,” Mando grits, body shuddering when you lean down to kiss his cock. You take private pleasure in that, thrilled by the notion that a person like you could affect a person like him in such a way.

“Would you feel even better if you came down my throat? Or do you want to see it on my face instead?”

Mando keens, and you feel all-powerful.

“In your mouth,” Mando answers, fingers coming up to stroke your cheek. He sounds shaky, and you let up on his cock just the slightest bit. “I don’t— You don’t deserve to have someone make a mess of you.”

“I don’t mind a mess,” you say, because you don’t, not if Mando’s the one fucking you up. “Maybe next time I suck you off I’ll let you cum on my tits. I—”

“Now you’re just fucking with me,” he groans, squirming in his chair like he can’t help it.

“I’m not,” you purr, “I promise you I’m not. You can do anything you want to me, Mando, I mean that. I’ll lie there and take it—”

“Maker, your fucking mouth,” Mando cuts, breath ragged. “If you keep fucking talking, I’ll—”

He never gets to finish the sentence, words crumbling into nothing as you abandon your little game. You suck him off in earnest, using your tongue, paying special attention the places that make him jerk in his seat when you so much as breathe on them. It doesn’t take him long to fall apart, and you try your best to take it all, swallowing obediently like the taste is nothing to you. And how could you care about something as inconsequential as of the flavor of Mando’s cum when his cock is pulsing in your mouth, when he’s groaning and fisting his hand in your hair…

Listening to Mando cum, _feeling_ him cum makes you drunk off arousal, but you force yourself to tamp down the feeling. He’d fuck you if you asked, rub your clit and let you clench on his fingers until you came at the very least, but this just… isn’t about you. No, this was something for Mando, a way for you to help him calm down, and you don’t want to ruin whatever peace he’s found by making demands. You’ll get yours soon, if you’re patient, and that’s more than okay right now.

Mando seems tired when you finally pull off of him for good, body sagging under his armor like simply holding himself upright would be a chore. You feel shy under his gaze, all your confidence and bravery slipping further and further away by the second. This was something you’d neglected to think about when you formed this plan in your mind, the _after_. Sucking Mando off and making him feel better is all well and good, but you still have to look at him, still have to go to sleep tonight and wake up in the morning knowing this happened. Knowing that _he_ knows this happened…

Slowly, ever so slowly, Mando musters up a bit of strength, pulling up his pants and doing up the fly as you watch from your place on the floor. You’re half expecting to be dismissed when he’s done, and that’s why it’s such a shock when Mando leans forward to hold your face in his hands.

“Come here,” he says softly, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Your legs burn when you stand up, and your knees ache from kneeling like you did. None of that matters though, not when Mando sits you on his thighs and wraps his arms around your body. You’re facing him, legs dangling just above the floor on either side of his. The beskar is cold and hard against your skin, but Mando’s hands are warm, the expanse his palm soothing down the plane of your back. Up and down, up and down, up and down the heat travels, breathing life into something delicate and raw inside your chest. You thread your arms around Mando’s neck after a few minutes, glad that he’s still not talking. Something about his affection has you choking up, and you’d rather die than give yourself away. It’s the silence, you think, the way he says so much without speaking a word.

“Thank you.”

The words come out in a staticky whisper, the sound of them crackling in your ear. And though it pains you to do so, you sit up and look at Mando properly, missing the warmth of his neck the minute it’s gone.

“It was… You don’t have to thank me,” you say softly, fiddling with the collar of Mando’s shirt. You wonder where his cape is and why he took it off in the first place, though you’re not exactly sad to see it go. “Are you hungry? I made you a plate earlier even though you said you didn’t want to eat. It’s still good if you want it.”

“I do have to thank you,” Mando insists, holding your chin in his fingers. “You take good care of me, _cyar’ika_.”

Cheeks hot, you refuse to meet his eyes. “Well, it’s not like you don’t deserve it.”

You want to ask him what those names mean, the one he called you just now and the one he blurted out earlier when he tried to stop you. But you think it might ruin the mood, and so you swallow the question like you swallowed the lump in your throat a few minutes ago.

“If you go lie down in my bed,” Mando says slowly, one hand trailing down, down, down your shivering back, “I’ll take good care of you too.”

And though the very idea of what that could mean has you ready to run down the ladder as fast as you can, you shake your head.

“I just want to go to sleep, Mando,” you tell him, “I’m tired. And I know you are too.”

Mando’s going to protest, he’s going to insist he pay you back, this much is made clear by the way his hands tighten around your hips. But you cut him off before his tongue can so much as form the words, pressing your chest against his, rolling your hips…

“But when you catch the quarry, we’ll do whatever you want. I said you could do anything to me, remember?”

The Mandalorian’s breath hitches, and you know then that you have him.

“ _This_ was a release,” you explain, ducking your head to press your lips to whatever skin you can. The helmet does a good job of concealing his jaw, but not every bit of his neck is hidden away. “ _That_ will be a celebration.”

Mando huffs through the modulator, though you think his discontentment is all for show.

“Fine,” he concedes, “but you better be waiting for me in that fucking bed when I get back.”


	2. celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mando makes it back from the hunt, and the two of you celebrate just like you said you would.

Mando leaves to find his quarry not five minutes after he lands the Crest, and then you don’t hear from him for three days. It’s his typical behavior, and so you think nothing of it, going about your business on the ship, playing with the baby…

Until the comm crackles to life on the fourth day.

“I’ll be home in ten minutes. Be ready for me.”

You know perfectly what he means, one sentence playing on loop in your head again and again. _Better be waiting for me, better be waiting for me, better be waiting for me…_ You’d like nothing more than to strip naked and crawl in Mando’s bunk like you know he wants you to, but it’s the middle of the day. The baby’s awake and cooing happily, there’s a meal to make and chores to finish… Still, you don’t want to give Mando the wrong idea, and so you perch on the edge of his bed with the baby in your arms, sure he’ll get the message.

Exactly nine minutes later, Mando comes barging onto the ship, wrestling with the quarry, telling the them to shut up and cooperate. There’s a struggle and more shouting after that, but you don’t so much as flinch, rocking the Child absently when he begins to fuss.

Two sentences in a language you don’t understand, three cuss words in Basic, the sound of a harsh kick, and then… and then Mando’s coming into the hull, huffing and puffing through the vocoder as the carbonite system engages in the other room. It’s as if the world falls away when the two of you lock eyes, but the Child’s bright, ringing cries shake you from your chance not five seconds later.

“Hey, kid,” Mando sighs, reaching for the baby. You can’t help but smile as you watch the Child coo and gurgle in his father’s arms, thrilled that Mando’s back after so much time away. There’s small talk, just a few words about the hunt and how the quarry ended up in custody, but you find yourself riding the high of a brave streak for briefest of moments.

“Is a _celebration_ in order?” you ask Mando, shifting just the slightest bit on the covers beneath you. He’s watching you move, that much you know, and so you run your palm over the quilt, sure to move slow slow slow.

Finally, he nods. “Yeah,” he says, “I think so. As soon as the kid’s asleep.”

“As soon as he’s asleep,” you affirm, nodding in turn.

\---

It’s not until hours later that the Child goes down for the night, drifting off as the Crest blasts through hyperspace. You listen as Mando tucks him in, fussing over his blankets, telling the baby goodnight in a soft voice that you’ve always loved. Settled on top of a crate, you wait for him to finish up, dressed in little more than a t-shirt and underwear. Mando’s liable to rip it all off of you anyway, so you figured getting fully dressed for bed was pointless.

Every blood vessel in your body thrums with excitement, every nerve sings with anxiety… Your heart jumps clear up in your throat when you hear Mando’s boots coming from the back of the ship, his footfalls heavy and imposing until he’s standing right there in front of you. He pauses a few feet away, the black, endless void of the visor trained directly on you, on your body. You can sense how intently he’s looking you over, but more importantly, you can see just how tense Mando, how his body’s drawn tight since he got back. He’s always wound up after a hunt, always comes home jumpy and tense, but it hasn’t dawned on you until now what that could mean, for you and for him. If he’s got the stamina, this could be a long night…

You think about breaking the ice with some innocuous question about the baby, but Mando doesn’t give you the opportunity. Without taking a single step closer, without so much as touching you, he asks, “You wet?”

Something about his tone implies that he already knows the answer, and you sure as hell don’t have to check. “Yes.”

“Good,” Mando declares, deadpan. “Go lie on your stomach.”

You do as he says without objection, starting when Mando calls out to you again.

“Take your underwear off first.”

 _Yes, sir_ , is your only thought after that, but you’re relieved to find that you still have enough about yourself to bite back the words. Two quick motions, and then you’re prone in Mando’s bunk, breathing in the smell of his sheets as you wait for something to happen. Not once before tonight have you ever felt this vulnerable, this exposed, this much like _prey._ Mando walks to you, slow and deliberate, and you feel yourself trembling for him, _because_ of him. You yelp the second his hands land on your ankles, warm and calloused and distinctly ungloved, powerless to resist Mando as he drags you down the bed. He tells you to spread your legs, to kneel wide and low for him, and so you do, scrambling to brace yourself and follow orders all at the same time. A belt buckle clinks, you hear a button and zipper being opened, and then Mando pushes inside you with one firm, fluid motion of his hips, effectively knocking the air out of your body. There’s no adjustment period, not so much as even a word of warning before Mando sets a relentless pace, fucking you up his bed and into the mattress. You moan for him without shame, scrabbling at the quilt just to have _something_ to hold on to as Mando manhandles you every so often. Pinning your arm in place, readjusting your legs, pushing you down by the back of your neck— you don’t protest one bit through all of it, unable to form so much as coherent thought. Never before in your life has a man fucked you like this, and you’re struggling to keep up, but you don’t ever want it to stop. That’s why you let out the most pathetic little whimper when Mando does go still, his hands gripping your hips like a vice as he pants through the modulator.

Words are still lost on you, but you try to speak anyway, stammering and stuttering through a few aborted sentences. “I— I don’t— Mando, please—”

“I’m being too rough with you,” he cuts, grip going slack. You whine again, but it’s like Mando doesn’t hear you, talking almost to himself now. “I just— You don’t— _I’m being too rough with you_.”

For a brief moment, you fear he’s going to end things here, but then Mando’s moving again, groaning as you clench around his cock. By no means he making sweet, gentle love to you, but you do find yourself appreciating this steadier, more controlled change of pace. You can take full breaths like this, the bite of Mando fingers on various parts of your body isn’t so harsh, isn’t so _bruising_ … He even tells you that you look pretty laid out for him like this, and that little piece of praise almost has you seeing stars.

You feel the loss immediately when Mando pulls out, whimpering in distress. But then his hands are on you, rolling you onto your back, settling your legs around him. The angle is different this way, but you’re no less satisfied when Mando starts fucking you again. He yanks your shirt up and cusses coarsely at the sight of your chest, the press of his hips relentless now. He’s got to be close, you think, the two of you have been at this for what feels like so long…

Fire spreads through you at the first brush of Mando’s thumb on your clit, wild and all-consuming, and it’s all you can do to hold a conversation with him when he starts talking again.

“You gonna cum for me, _cyar’ika_?” he asks, and you might think it was a tease if Mando’s own voice didn’t sound so strained and broken. He’s holding back for you, he has to be.

You manage to squeak out a ‘yes’ at that, but your capacity for speech ends there, all words choked off by the way Mando laces your fingers together. And though the two of you are _fucking_ , for the Maker’s sake, the gesture makes you feel shy, makes you turn your head even as you feel your orgasm beginning to crest. For just a few seconds, the world blurs, your body contorting in pleasure. Mando says something, maybe asks you a question, but you couldn’t even begin to guess at the content of the message.

When you finally come back to reality, when sound and sight and everything like them comes back into focus, you pant for breath, exhausted. Mando looms over you in the darkness, masked and armored and covered from the top if his head to the tips of his toes, and you wish so badly that you could look at him as he his. Even if you could just see his face, could just look into his eyes…

“Stay here,” Mando says to you, words crackling through the vocoder. He walks off with his pants open, returning seconds later with a wet rag in hand. You watch Mando clean himself off, hands rough and graceless as he works himself over, but the way he treats you is anything but. No, Mando swipes the cloth between your legs so very gently, head bent to his work as he cleans his own cum off your stomach. Like before, something about this tenderness has you feeling shy, face hot as you wonder what he’s thinking, if he’s thinking anything at all.

“You got another pair of underwear?”

The question catches you a bit off-guard, but you manage to get out an answer anyway. “I— Yeah, in my bag.”

Without a word, Mando goes away again, this time coming back with a pair of your panties in hand. Once again, he defies your expectations, dressing you himself even as you insist that he doesn’t have to. Finally, in a move that shocks you the most out of all that’s happened tonight, Mando tells you to crawl in his bed.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he offers, calm and casual. You try to mirror his demeanor, simply nodding as you go to get under the covers at the other end of the bunk, but your pulse is pounding. It’s not like Mando blew you off after you went down on him— quite the opposite, actually— but you hadn’t been expecting something like this.

You pretend to be disinterested as you lie there, watching in shock as Mando strips off his boots and armor. The sight of him in nothing but shirt and pants is a bit shocking, but you find your heart singing as you take in the plane of his back, the shape of his arms… You like the beskar, especially when it’s on Mando, but you’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t imagined him like this a thousand times. The _real_ him, who he is under all the armor and weapons. This isn’t exactly Mando bare to the world, but… but it’s closer, and that’s all you can hope for right now.

It’s a tight squeeze in Mando’s little bunk, but the two of you make do with what you have. Mando’s warm when you cuddle close to him, chest firm under your head, stomach soft under your hand. Every move Mando makes is hesitant and delicate, almost like he’s handling something volatile and wild, and so you let him take his time, gentle in every way until he gains confidence. To feel his bare hands in your hair reminds you of what happened when you first offered yourself up to him, though the memories don’t exactly upset you.

“I… That was good, _mesh’la_ ,” Mando finally says, speaking slowly. “Thank you.”

You let your hand trail up and down his side, content. “Any time.”

“I’m serious,” he presses, “I needed that. You’re… You’re very good to me. For letting me do things like that, I mean.”

“Mando,” you say, serious now, “I told you that first time that you could do whatever you want to me, and I meant. You don’t have to thank me.”

It would seem he doesn’t know what to say to that, and so Mando just holds you closer, arms wrapped tight. You study him for a moment, catching just the barest, littlest glimpse of his chin under the lip of the helmet.

“What do those words mean?” you ask, throwing your leg over Mando’s hips.

“Which words?”

“The ones you called me when we fucked.”

“Well,” Mando begins, “ _Mesh’la_ means beautiful.”

“And the other one?”

“ _Cyar’ika_ is… _Cyar’ika_ is like sweetheart, but with more feeling. You wouldn’t— It’s not something you say casually.”

You could pry into that, you know, ask a lot of questions and stir the pot. Hell, maybe Mando would even tell you some of what you want to hear. But that’s a big risk, and you don’t want to ruin all the good that’s just passed between the two of you.

“Sleep with me, please,” you say softly, pressing your lips to Mando’s neck. “I know you’re tired.”

“You think an old man like me can’t keep up with you?”

You smile, snuggling closer even as you tease him right back. “Not after he’s been hunting for days.” You turn your face upwards, earnest now. “Seriously, promise me you’ll try to get some rest.”

“I will, _cyar’ika_ ,” he says. “I promise.”


End file.
